


Merry

by Cuptivate



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hope, PTSD, Sadness, Triggers, mention of terror, mention of tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Bilbo loves Christmas but memories make it a difficult time of year for her.





	Merry

**Author's Note:**

> A somber note: This story deals with memories of terror and death. Don’t read it if that kind of thing is a trigger to you. But do read it if you want to read about hope.

“Dumbest spot to be standing,” the man muttered under his breath, shot her an impatient glare and pushed past her.

Bilbo, ripped out of her thoughts, hastily stepped back until she could wedge herself between the advertising column and the Christmas tree next to one of the chalet-style stalls of the small Christmas market, this one selling scented oils.

“Sorry,” she called after the man, but he was already gone, not bothering to grace her with one more look - a friendlier look at that - or even just a glance back over his shoulder.

It was not new: most people were extremely stressed during the festive season, letting the added weight of extra work just before the holidays, of having to organize presents and family visits get to them. Bilbo could sympathize, she really could, she had to put in a few hours overtime the last couple of weeks herself. She could not, however, understand why people seemed to get themselves in dire straits _every year_ in terms of organizing their presents and various family visits - seriously, it’s not as if Christmas was a surprise, it happened _every year_ , it was in the calendar, _every year_. And on top of that Bilbo always felt that if one could not think of a meaningful present for someone then it was probably only a shameful sign that one hadn’t taken the time to truly get to know the person, or take just five minutes to truly thoroughly think about it. And all those who complained about the stress of having to spend time with their families forgot to pause and consider what it would be like if they had nobody to spend time with.

Bilbo knew what that was like. She smiled wistfully at a few children who excitedly chattered amongst each other, trailing after their parents, their voices ringing with delight and wonder as their eyes took in the sights of the prettily decorated chalet-like market stalls and their mouths likely salivating thanks to the most pleasurable smells around them.

Christmas markets were a frontal attack on all the senses.

Shuffling her feet a little Bilbo suddenly realized that she had been standing in her small corner for quite some time, lost in her memories: daylight faded fast and the evening chill began creeping into her boots and up her feet.

Bilbo sighed and exhaled deeply, watching her foggy breath disappear into the cold air before her.

In that moment the street lanterns and large glowing snowflake and star lights of the market were switched on and the whole area lit up with even more festive glow. Astonished, Bilbo recognized the happy little jolt in her heart. She hadn’t felt that in quite a long time, but instead of being able to embrace it she could only smile sadly and felt her shoulders drooping.

She took another deep breath, letting the scent of spiced sausages and rotisserie pork, sweet dumplings and waffles, candied nuts and marzipan flood her nostrils. And of course mulled wine. The very thought of a few sips of the delicious drink going down her throat made Bilbo feel warm inside.

And that did it.

Suddenly feeling determined not to go home to her empty apartment just yet Bilbo decided to be brave just a little while longer and indulge in a mug of mulled wine. Just to warm her feet and her hands, she promised herself. And really, it was not like she had to be anywhere else.

She cautiously made her way through the crowd of mingling market goers and commuters on their way home from work, and safely managed to get to a stall in the very center of the market. Taking it as a good sign that only two people were in the cue before her it was Bilbo’s turn soon enough. She ordered her mulled wine and paid for it as well as the deposit for the pretty mug, carefully sliding her gloved hand through the wide handle of and making her way to a little nook at the side of the stall. There was no room at any of the small round bar tables, all surrounded by small groups of friends or families, laughing and chatting and indulging in their drinks and food from the various vendors. But it suited her just fine and she didn’t mind being at the edge of things by herself, taking a measure of delight in simply observing those around her.

So Bilbo watched and listened, occasionally blowing on her mulled wine and carefully taking a sip from the hot beverage, a small smile playing around her mouth. When the sound of voices singing carols rang over the market her thoughts wandered off again.

“Burnt your mouth?” a deep voice asked suddenly.

Blinking back into the present Bilbo looked for the speaker. A tall, burly man stood next to her, black dress pants peeked out from under a black military style wool coat with matte buttons and straight pockets. The black chukka boots made him look just a little less formal. He wore neither a beanie nor a hat and his bald pate stood nearly a head and a half above her. He wore no gloves either and he cradled a mug that looked almost comically tiny in his massive, tattooed hands. A lovely scarf in a deeply saturated blue brought out the colour of his steel-grey eyes and accentuated his thick, dark beard with plenty of greys in it. The man nodded at her and dipped his chin at her mug meaningfully, giving her a look of commiseration. “Happens only ever with the first mug of the year, doesn’t it?” he said, sounding both amused and sorry for her assumed plight.

Bilbo blinked again. “I ... I didn’t ...” She shook her head and cleared her throat, trying to find her bearing. “Sorry,” she tried again, smiling up at the man tentatively. “I didn’t burn my mouth. But you are right,” she hurried when his bushy eyebrows began pulling together in a frown, “It does usually only ever happen once, with the first mug of the year. I didn’t just yet burn myself, but alas ...” she lifted her mug a little to show him it was nearly full. “It might still happen. Thank you for reminding me to be extra careful.”

He hummed and gave her an appraising look from sharp eyes. “Pleasure. And my apologies if I misread your expression. You just seemed ...” he searched for words “... pained.” Another searching look from those steel-grey eyes. It was truly a fascinating colour. Bilbo couldn’t say she’d ever seen anyone else with hat eye colour. And despite the obvious perceptiveness of their owner and his unusual appearance Bilbo was sure she also detected a softness and a well of profound emotion well hidden in their depths.

Which is why she followed her instincts and gave him a small, sorrowful smile. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted quietly, “I love Christmas, but it also is a sad time of the year. I guess I was lost in memories for a moment.”

The man hummed again and nodded thoughtfully. He truly was massive. Bilbo guessed that he easily was twice as wide as her. His lower arm alone was probably the size of her thigh.

Raucous laughter broke out from a merry group in front of them as they were joined by a few more friends and moved closer to fit around their table.

Bilbo shuffled back a little to give them more space and avoid being bumped into. The man next to her did the same, although he now positioned himself slightly before her, as if attempting to shield her from any such danger.

Looking up at him Bilbo noticed his eyes darting away from her quickly, but she realized that he must have seen something on her face that showed her discomfort.

“Thank you,” she said, “It’s easy to get trampled when you’re my size. Not that you would know about that?” Gosh, Bilbo, she chastised herself, what a thing to say to a stranger! Maybe he hated his size! People were seldom happy with what nature had given them.

But the man chuckled, not taking her tease personally. “No, I wouldn’t know about that. It’s rather difficult to move me once I’ve planted my feet firmly on the ground.”

She smiled with him. He did have a lovely smile. It made his eyes light up. “You ... you’re waiting for someone?” She didn’t want him to feel as if he had to stay with her just to keep any of those very social mulled wine revelers from stumbling into her. If he’d say yes she’d excuse herself and leave.

But he firmly shook his head and Bilbo couldn’t shrug the feeling off that he knew what she had been thinking. “No, I’m not waiting for anyone. The market is on my way home from work and I decided to stop. I try to make the time to do small things, you know, to get into the Christmas spirit and all. It tends to get a bit hectic this time of year and I am doing my best not to get pulled into the whole frenzy of it.”

He had it right, Bilbo thought, which made him - besides his rather stand-out-ish appearance - a rather rare specimen.

“Yes,” she said, “Christmas can be an overwhelming challenge. I was thinking the same, just before.”

He hummed. “Yes, you were looking very much lost in thought.”

Bilbo startled a bit. Had he been watching her? Now that was just creepy. Maybe she had praised him too early in her head after all. “I’m sorry?”

Waving a massive hand over to where Bilbo had been standing between the advertising column and the Christmas tree for a good while he looked at her apologetically. “Saw you standing over there. Saw you yesterday, too. And the day before. I wasn’t sure what to do, to be honest. How to approach this. But it’s been bugging me and I’ve promised myself if you’re here again today I’d invite you to a drink, or a meal, or whatever you need.”

“Need?” Bilbo echoed and frowned in confusion. Why would a complete stranger spend one second thinking what she would _need_? The penny dropped when the man’s eyes darted over the patched up elbows of her coat, over the glove that had her pinky and pointer sticking out through holes at the tips, the boots that were worn and in urgent need of a replacement.

“You thought ... you thought I couldn’t _afford_ my mulled wine? You thought I needed _charity_?” Bilbo asked incredulously, but her offended anger immediately dimmed as she watched in amazement that the man’s ears seemed to glow a little red.

“I apologize,” he said bashfully, sounding truly sorry, "I just ...” he lifted a big hand to scratch his bearded chin, searching for words, “Not everyone is having a great time at Christmas, what with all the extra cost of presents and food and all that. While my life is good now, it wasn’t always like that, and I’ve had people help me along the way. I have not forgotten what it’s like to be at the bottom of the food chain though, and I always try to give something back. When I saw you standing over there I thought ... Again, I apologize,” Dwalin said very sincerely, looking her straight into the eye to convey his seriousness. “I did not mean to insult you, truly.”

A rare specimen indeed.

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at him, a wide and honest smile, and quite liked how his eyes lit up at that and his contrite expression softened. “I am not insulted. On the contrary. Not many people are particularly thoughtful about those that struggle this time of year. It is very kind of you that you take the time to consider others. It’s what Christmas is all about, after all. But no, I am not in need of food or drink. My appearance ...” she eyed the holes in her gloves and her shabby boots with a pang of shame “... is careless more than anything else.” She sighed. She should really take better care of her image.

The man shifted on his feet and Bilbo could feel his quick glance at her while she took another sip from her mulled wine. He hesitated, clearly warring with himself. When he cleared his throat Bilbo was wondering what would come next. When he spoke though she felt herself caught off guard once more and her face fell. “So ...” he began cautiously, “If I might ask: why were you standing over there, looking so sad and forlorn? You can tell me it’s none of my business and that’s fine,” he added quickly when he saw her expression.

Bilbo took a deep breath. He was a stranger, but he had been nothing but nice. She’d probably not be seeing him again ever after today, so she might as well tell him. It would be another first step.

And she had not been talking about it with anyone, not really.

Maybe it was time.

“It’s alright,” she assured him slowly and plucked at the glove to pull the knitted fabric up to cover her pointer. “Christmas ... it’s not an easy time. Overwhelming, really. Although the last few years it was a rather ... numb affair ... and in all honesty I have little memory of any of them. I’m making baby steps to be out and about again, easing myself into it so to speak.” She took deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth, to center herself. Feeling a bit faint she gripped the mug tight and just went for it. “My parents died three years ago today. That truck that drove into the Christmas market near the park?” Dwalin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, they were two of the fatalities. I was to meet them and would have been with them, but was held back at work and running late. When I came up from the subway it had literally just happened.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat and ploughed on, despite her trembling voice and her shaking hands. “It was complete chaos. People running. People screaming. Panic everywhere. I was running too, trying to find my parents.” She lifted a gloved hand to quickly wipe a stray hair away. Her eyes burned but they remained dry. “I did find them. Police told me later that they were the first to be hit. They died instantly.” She looked at the mug in her hands. “I love Christmas. My parents loved Christmas. The season was a big deal for us. We enjoyed the sights and the smells and the tastes. But I haven’t been able to do anything Christmas since then. It is rather amazing how the smell of cinnamon or some twinkling lights bring everything back, insane really ... but it’s all becoming a muddle ... years and years of happy memories and the carnage of that one day. Just couldn’t stomach it. But I know it ... it can’t be like that forever. I need to find some sort of closure - no, that’s the wrong word. There won’t be any closure. A truce maybe, sort of a compromise dealing with it all. So I ... I forced myself to walk past here the last few weeks. Made myself stop the last few days. And today I ... it’s quiet and lonely at home. So I ...” she trailed off, suddenly feeling that she was revealing way too much. He was just being friendly but he surely didn’t sign up to hear her whole sad story. He’s going to say sorry and find an excuse to leave, Bilbo thought, quite taken aback by the sadness she felt at that.

“Today you were very brave,” the bulky man finished her sentence gravely and Bilbo looked up at him with surprise. He smiled at her sadly. Then he sighed. “For me it’s newspapers and crossword puzzles,” he said and Bilbo stared at him, sure she had lost the thread of the conversation somehow.

His smile widened, but it was still tinged with melancholy. “My parents loved reading the paper together at breakfast. That’s how I grew up: Mum would read the local news, Dad would read world news, and they’d exchange comments about this and that over the pages and around their mugs of coffee and plates of toast. Then they’d switch over to sports and entertainment. The crossword puzzle was tackled when Dad came home from work. By then Mum would have already solved a few words and they’d figure out the rest together, playfully arguing sometimes.” He shrugged a little. “I couldn’t hold or read a newspaper for years, nor look at a crossword puzzle. Still avoid it, actually. It’s been many years that they passed, a house fire.” His fond expression turned contemplative and he gazed into the distance. “I said bye and was meant to go to school. But I wagged lessons that day, meeting up with some friends outside art school, smoking stolen cigarettes and trying to chat up girls that were too old for us. So when it happened nobody could get a hold of me and when I came home that evening the house was gone and my parents, too. My brother, he had already been in his last year at university back then, was beside himself with worry ... It is odd, how the memory has faded, I can barely remember my Mum’s face, or my Dad’s voice, but the smell of a newspaper or the sound of pages being turned brings it all back in a flash.” He shook his head a little to bring himself back to the present and met Bilbo’s eyes. “I was a teenager when it happened and twenty five when I went into a bookstore. I had always avoided the newspaper section but they were refurbishing and on that day I had to walk straight past it. Froze on the spot, had to leave again.” He lifted the mug to his lips to drink. “And it still hits me occasionally when I least expect it or when I’m stressed and tired. Which is why I am trying to be mindful of little things and take the time to slow down. So, for you to be here, today ... it is very brave.” His voice was low and there was great softness in it, as well as admiration.

Bilbo didn’t know what to say. She held on to her mug and took slow breaths to keep from breaking into tears. The man left her be, but Bilbo could feel his concerned gaze on her. When she finally managed to ground herself again and looked up at him his eyes met hers unwaveringly. “I am Dwalin,” he said lowly, but his voice was gentle, “Dwalin Durin.”

She nodded and repeated the name in her head. The name did fit his appearance, somehow. “Bilbo,” she replied in a whisper, “Bilbo Baggins.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “It is lovely to meet you, Bilbo Baggins.”

She nodded again. “And you, Dwalin Durin.”

The group in front of them seemed to continue growing, both in size and in level of noise, and Bilbo was glad that he was there. With his bulk in front of her she felt safe, although it wasn’t just that. His whole being exuded compassion and care. Despite her being safely tucked away in the nook next to the stall Dwalin carefully reached for her elbow and gently steered her a few meters through the crowd and into the free gap on the opposite side of the path, between a beeswax candle stall and one that displayed a large variety of pottery items.

Bilbo gave him a small smile and they sipped silently on their hot drinks for a moment. It occurred to Bilbo that she should say something and she cleared her throat. “I am sorry for your loss, Dwalin,” she said simply.

He looked down at her and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you, Bilbo. And I for yours.”

It was her turn to nod, but no words made it past the lump in her throat.

Dwalin sighed. “The worst was the guilt,” he said. “Even though the brain tells you that it wasn’t your fault and that there would have been nothing you could have done. Had I been at school that day it would still have happened. But having been out and being happy, laughing with friends and fooling around while they died ... that’s what really got me. The guilt. That my brother Balin didn’t know for some time whether I was in the house, too, whether he lost not only his parents but me as well. We have a good relationship, always did, and he never blamed me for anything, but I fell off the wagon for quite some years before I managed to accept my feelings and found ways to learn living with them. And he was with me all the way, no matter how hard I made it for him. Words cannot express how grateful I am for his constant support and love. You have siblings, Bilbo?”

She shook her head with a sad twang in her heart. “No, I am an only child,” she told him with much regret. “Mum always wanted more children but it was not meant to be. It made the three of us all the more closer. My parents, they are ...” she closed her eyes for a moment and forcibly exhaled slowly. “My parents _were_ both from large families. Mum had eleven siblings, Dad four.”

“Goodness,” Dwalin sounded amazed, “That’s a lot of aunties and uncles for you.”

Bilbo chuckled. “And cousins. We always joke that knowing our family tree is worthy of a degree ...” She trailed off at the end, looking at the ground and shuffling her feet at bit. The cold was creeping into her toes again. There was silence between them once more, but not an awkward one. Not nearly as awkward as the ones Bilbo had to endure when she went to visit her relations.

“Let me guess: they care, but they don’t understand. Not really,” Dwalin said knowingly.

Bilbo shook her head slowly. “They mean well,” she said quietly. Then she sighed, pretending to speak in her cousin’s voice. “ _It’s been three years, Bilbo. Your parents would want for you to live your life, Bilbo. When’s the last time you’ve been anywhere, Bilbo? Just find yourself a nice young man, Bilbo, he’ll put your mind to other matters. You need to smile more, Bilbo, no man wants a sour pot._ ” She gulped the rest of her now lukewarm mulled wine down. “And my favourites: _At least they died when they were happy, Bilbo. Parents should die before their children, it’s the natural way of things, even if this was different, Bilbo, image how they would feel if it were the other way around._ ”

Dwalin’s face was a grim mask. “I am sorry,” he said, and Bilbo knew it was not a platitude, but that he meant it, likely had been hearing similar. “We’re not a large family. Parents and grandparents are all gone. Some cousins, some of them married, with kids, so there’s been some young ones running around at the few family gatherings. But I know what it’s like. People say it’s time to move on, but what they really mean is that _they’ve_ moved on and unless you’re doing the same they’re going to leave you behind.” He drank from his mug, a deep frown on his face. “My cousin Dis, she lost her husband in a car crash a good twenty years ago. People actually told her that it’s good she’s young, she could fall in love again. She had one small boy and another one on the way that never even met his father, and that was really the last thing she needed to hear.”

Bilbo shuddered, closing her eyes for a moment. “What an awful thing to say.”

“Aye, it was,” Dwalin agreed, “The people that said those things have long been cut loose. But then again, they were no relations, so I guess it’s easier then.”

Nodding, Bilbo pulled her shoulders up. “My family keeps asking me to come and spend Christmas with them, because they _miss my Dad’s Christmas pudding and the ton of shortbread cookies he’d be bringing._ ” She made air quotes and shook her head. “I have his recipe which means they expect me to be bringing it all, and I know they don’t mean it that way but the way they phrase it ... like they only miss his baking but not him ... it’s ...“ She searched for words.

“Careless,” Dwalin supplied softly. “It’s careless. We don’t want people to weigh their words but some things just need to be phrased a bit more cautiously. I know.”

Bilbo took deep, slow breaths. This man did really understand. It was soothing, and somehow deeply concerning. Exciting and frightening, too. It made her feel as if she _was_ for the first time in a long time. And it made her feel guilty for _being_ , as if she should still be mourning. Even though she _knew_ her parents would be the first to tell her it was alright.

Dwalin cleared his throat. “Have you been seeing someone? I mean, for help? A grief-group or similar?”

Bilbo gripped her mug tightly with both hands, even though it was long empty. “I have. But I’ve been listening, mostly. I find it difficult ... to talk to strangers face to face ... about this. I mean, talking about it on command like. It was ... it is ... too much, and I’m not sure how I am able to do it right now, with you ... I’ve done a lot of reading about it though. Which is why I set myself the task of walking past this market since the beginning of December. I only managed to actually stop and watch people the last few days.”

“And today you’ve been particularly brave,” Dwalin said with a soft smile.

Bilbo nodded again, looking at her boots. They really looked particularly shabby next to Dwalin’s spotless chukka’s.

“You know they are wrong, right?” Dwalin asked suddenly. “Your family,” he elaborated when she looked puzzled. “You do smile a lot, even now. Not big smiles, true, but they are there nonetheless. And they are lovely.”

He was giving her a compliment. Bilbo stared at him, rendered speechless. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her a complement. A flush spread across her face.

Dwalin looked down at her warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “They make your eyes sparkle.” He cleared his throat. “And they make me want to coax out more of them. Which is why I’m hoping that maybe you’ll allow me to see you again? It doesn’t have to be here and it doesn’t have to be anything big. Just a walk maybe?”

Blinking rapidly Bilbo tried to make sense of Dwalin’s words. She took a while to respond, causing him to shift his feet a little, suddenly looking awkward. “You ... you ... Are you asking me out?”

Dwalin held her eyes when he spoke. “I am. Your choice, your pace, but yes, I’d like to see you again.” He huffed a little laugh. “You must think I’m doing this a lot, asking a woman out I just met. But I don’t. In fact, I haven’t asked anyone out in ... dear me, it’s been a while. A long while. But I’d like to see you again.”

Bilbo hesitated. He was so not the type of man she was attracted to – with his beard, his size and tattoos for starters. But she knew she was attracted to _Dwalin_ , and not just because of the things he had said. And she looked deep into herself and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to come to this Christmas market again without looking out for his tall figure and bald head. And if he came through here on his way home from work, same as her, she’d loathe to pass him by without speaking to him. Taking a deep breath she nodded. “Alright.”

The smile he gave her warmed her better than any mulled wine ever could and Bilbo knew she had made the right decision.

She wasn’t quite there yet, but for the first time in a long time she felt like she could be merry again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not everyone’s Christmas is a happy time. This story was written in memoriam of the victims of the terror attack on a Berlin Christmas market in 2016, which killed 12 people and injured 56, altogether from 12 nations: Germany, Italy, Israel, Poland, Czech Republic, Ukraine, Spain, United Kingdom, United States, Finland, Hungary, France and Lebanon. While this unfortunately was not the only terror attack on a Christmas market or Christmas shoppers in recent times, it is the one I associate strongly with, having been on holidays and at a different Christmas market at exactly the same time, happily sipping my mulled wine when police closed the place down.   
> For anyone who has directly or indirectly been affected by such a tragedy: know you are not forgotten.


End file.
